Roses are Red
by BlUeRoSe782
Summary: Post-Mummy. Jonathan gives Rick an idea of how to impress Evie. Disaster will ensue as Rick writes (or tries to write) his first love poem.
1. Default Chapter

**Roses are Red**

****_A Mummy fanfiction by BlueRose_

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___Author's note: this fic was inspired by my best friend Adrian and her boyfriend Kevin. Kevin wrote her this really horrible (and I mean it, it was soooooooooo cheesy) poem for when they were first going out, and she showed it to me and we had a laugh. Then I had a thought, "hey what if Rick tried to write a poem for Evie?" And so a story was born._

_Anywho, this fic is dedicated to them both, for being inspirational in their weirdness._

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__Now I've seen a lot of things in my day. Mummies, curses, and chaps sleazy enough to make me look like an angel. But I have never in my adventuring career seen anything quite like the relationship between my sister and Rick O'Connell. Now I grant it, I'm not the brightest bulb in the pack, but I just don't get off on how Evie can be so stuck on a man like O'Connell. Sure, he's attractive enough (not like I would notice such things, but I know women and as far as I can see, they certainly seem to like the whole dashing ex-Legionairre thing) but what can a man who's never so much as opened a book in my presence have in common with my librarian sister? 

Which is why I was appalled at the sight in front of me. 

I was sitting at the local Casbah, minding my drink when I felt eyes boring holes into the back of my head. 

"Ah, O'Connell," I greeted. "Sit down, sit down." And, gesturing to the stool next to mine, "drink?" 

That's when I saw it. 

At first, I thought it might be the Seagram's. It's been known to do all sorts of amusing things to one's sense of judgment. Just ask Evie, or Rick from that matter. But what I saw before my very eyes was not an illusion but reality: Rick bloody O'Connell had a paper and pen in hand. Now, I'll have you know that I do on occasion write things down. Things like "meet for drinks and 9 o'clock" and "pay back loan from bartender." But those are on short little sheets of paper with a pencil. This was a pad of paper and a pen. 

This spelled trouble. 

So of course, I asked, with my customary coolness under pressure. "Just what in the hell do you think you're doing?" 

O'Connell cleared his throat briefly and looked about him cautiously. I know the look well. The "I can't let anyone else hear me saying this" look was rather popular with myself and my comrades, for various reasons I won't go into at the moment. 

"Well?" I demanded. 

"Uh, yeah, see it's kinda complicated..." He stammered. 

This wasn't good. This just wasn't good at all. I know the man, one doesn't save a chap from nearly being sacrificed by a 3,000 year old walking corpse with an attitude without learning something about him. And I happen to know that the only time O'Connell gets all "um" and "uh" and "you know...yeah" is when a certain doe-eyed librarian comes into play. 

I took a swift sip from my drink. I was going to need several more of those in order to deal with what ever my dear, sweet baby sister had managed to do to him. 

"My good man, " I said companionably, throwing my arm around his shoulder in true brotherly fashion. "This has got to do with Evie, hasn't it?" 

"Don't make me hurt you," he said, throwing my arm off of him with, by the way, no regard to my personal safety. 

"So I'm right?" I asked. After all, he wouldn't dare hurt the beloved brother of his favored lady. Especially if I was right. 

"Dammit, Jonathan!" 

Looks like I was. 

He shifted towards me, pen and paper in hand. "Look, remember when I asked you what I should do for Evie? You know, to make her understand how much I care about her?" 

Oh, this was good. Damn better than what I'd suspected. No matter that I couldn't remember for the life of me what I'd said to him. 

"Go on," I bluffed. 

"You said," he indicate the pen and paper. "That I should do something, creative and meaningful. Like um, write her a poem." 

I snorted, praying he would think it was the drink going to my head. This was too good to be true! Wait till the guys at the _Pharaoh's Staff_ hear about this one! Rick O'Connell, Mr. "Tough guy, take no prisoners, shoot first ask questions later" wanted to write my sister a poem! A bloody poem! I was sure he'd never written a poem in his life, save the "roses are red violets, lemons are yellow, you're a stinky fellow" sort in elementary school. 

"And, so..." I continued, trying to save face from laughing. "What do you have written now?" 

He gave me a pained expression. 

"Well, you came here for my help." I said, "whether you like it or not. And I can't help you unless I know where you are." 

I really thought he was going to hurt me then. But low and behold, he began to read. 

"Roses are red," he said. 

I waited. And waited. Nothing could be heard save the clinking of glasses and occasional rowdy laughter from another table. 

"And...?  
He shifted in his seat, "that's all I've got." 

_*** want more? Let me know. I plan to make this a chapter story, but I need you guys to show me love, so push that little button at the bottom of the screen that says "review." ***_


	2. Chapter Two

**Roses are Red**

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****_A/N: Thanks so much for reviewing! It does wonders for one's self esteem, and it's cheaper than therapy. Lol :) anyway, I think this will be around a 3 to 4 chapter fic. I don't wanna drag it out *too* much but I don't wanna rush either._

_Sorry so long between updates, school is really busy these days and my AP History teacher especially has been dishing out the busy work._

_A couple things here: I've never written from Rick's POV before, so cut me a little slack as some of this words may sound OOC. Also, I'm aware that Rick probably handles his alcohol pretty well, but I needed a little extra plot twist to my story, so bare with me._

_Enjoy! :)_

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__**Chapter Two**

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****I really need to learn to keep my mouth shut. You'd think after all the times I've been punched for saying stuff when I should know better I might be a believer in the whole "silent and deadly" persona. 

But no, I'm me. The loud, brash, "violence isn't an answer it's a quicker way to get one" American. And yet, I fell for _her._

__She's not exactly quiet either. Her parents must not have believed in the whole "children should be seen and not heard" philosophy. Hell, she even talks in her sleep. But her talk is different. It's not about drinking or swearing in six different languages. It's about philosophers with names I can't pronounce, ancient places no human eye will ever see again. She's smart. Smarter than I'll ever be. Not to mention beautiful, and stubborn, and a disaster on two legs-with attitude. But somehow, along the way, quite against my will, I fell in love. And strangely, when I'm with her...it's just _right._

__"And?" Jonathan's persistent voice is bringing me back to reality, and the bar, and the fact that I'm making the biggest dumbass out of myself. Ever. Not even that whole "just looking for a good time" incident made me look this pathetic. 

"That's all I...have?" I respond dumbly. God, I'm such an idiot. What kind of guy goes to his girl's degenerate brother for help writing a _love poem? _

He takes another gulp of his drink. From the look on his face, it appears he's going to need it. 

He clunks the glass on the dirty countertop and signals the bartender for another, "So let me get this straight. You want _me_ to help _you _write a love poem to my lovely sister, expressing all of her charms and sweet demeanor?" 

Note to self: Kill Jonathan when this is all over. 

"Well, when you put it like that..." I said slowly. 

"Yes or no?" He whines. 

The man is like a little knat, buzzing incessantly. Did I just use a four syllable word? Evie must be rubbing off on me. 

"Fine, dammit!" I slam my fists down on the table, to no avail. He just looks at me with that _knowing_ smile. The "I know you're a complete idiot and I'm going to take full advantage of it" look. I know, because I've done it. 

"Well, then." He says, clearly pleased. "You could start maybe with...um...describe a feature of her that you, um...like." 

I take a gulp of the drink sitting in front of me. Sure, I like-love, a lot of things about Evie. Her courage, her stubborness, the way she smiles, that crooked little smile...but when it comes to putting stuff into words, I trip over my own feet. 

I position the pen over the paper. This could take awhile. 

************** 

Someone was knocking. 

How the-? 

My head hurt like hell, and I'm not really sure why. Could've been the rough wood panel my forehead was crushed against, but in the back of my mind, I knew there was something important I was forgetting. I grimaced horribly and reached for the dirty glass on the bar, but a hand assailed me from the sky and smacked mine with a stinging blow. 

I sat up immediately. The world swayed a little as I steadied myself on the tippy barstool. 

"Hello, Sunshine." 

It was Jonathan. Even though my vision was blurry and not a little double, I'd recognize that whiny British twang anywhere. He hit the table again with a force I didn't know he had. 

Now I know what that knocking sound was. 

"Why are you hitting the table?" I asked thickly. 

"Trying to wake up my hand, dear boy." He said, in a particularly chipper tone. "Fell asleep a long time ago and it won't wake back up." He gave me one of his famous grins. "Kind of like you just now." 

"Um...." I stalled. I'll kill him later. When my stomach stops heaving. "Hope you don't take this the wrong way, but where the hell was I last night?" 

His face visibly twitched, but he kept a straight-on glance just the same. "You were chugging down repeated doses of Glenlivet with a rather surly, overweight fellow by the name of Karim." 

Oh. That Karim. 

Little snippets were returning to my memory. Something about a bet and a contest, and a little fat man who looked a hell of a lot like the warden who'd held me imprisoned for "just having a good time." And Jonathan, cheering me on with the aid of half a dozen disreputable women at his side. And something about a poem... 

"Oh, shit." 

"What?" He asked me, startled. 

I got up suddenly. Way too suddenly. I got my bearings in time, but the sun seemed unusually bright. 

"What time is it?" I asked, gathering up my coat from the floor. 

Jonathan glanced at his watch, "Six fifty-three AM." 

"Oh, shit." 

"What? What? What'd I do?" He stammered, trying to catch up with me as I headed, only somewhat intact, towards the door. 

I stopped in mid-track and turned to face him. 

"Evie. I forgot her. I was gonna pick her up from the Museum last night and take her dancing." 

His eyes widened, I could tell he was remembering too. 

"Oh...that." 

"Yeah, that." I started towards my car, parked...somewhere. 

He continued to follow me. "Well, look on the bright side, old man. You didn't have to take her dancing." 

"That's not the point!" I yelled back. "I came to you to write her a poem, telling her I LOVE HER! And what did I do? I got DRUNK OFF MY ASS. And left her there." 

"Well...that is something of a pickle." 


End file.
